Some people will tell you She is not there...

-----------------------------------------------------

Most people will tell you She cannot be seen;
But I see Her all around;
Some people will tell you She is not there;
But I shall tell you a different sort of tale.

Like giant arboreal soldiers,
They are lined in their rows;
Arrayed in formation they stand at attention;
They sway, they bob, and they bow;
Low, as if on bended knee;
Yes, reverently they bow before her majestic royalty.

Like grazing sheep,
Great, unshorn, and woolly beasts,
The distant herd moves lazily across the blue plains,
Guided by their caring shepherdess;
She nudges and prods them as they feed,
Gently moving them onward through the sky,
To the green pastures and still waters,
Of the northern horizon.

Like waves on the high sea,
They ripple across the Spring grass;
Her delicate fingers brushing each green blade;
These waves moving ever nearer,
Make their way to me,
And splash onto my face;
Her fingers, cold to the touch this Spring morn,
Press against my face, and numb my cheeks;
Continuing to walk,
I drop my head down and lean forward,
Just enough to balance Her push.

Most people will tell you She cannot be seen;
Yet, I see Her all around;
Some people will tell you She is not there;
Who is it then, do tell,
That so stirs my soul?

Yes, some people will tell you She is not there;
But I shall tell you a different sort of tale.

------------------------------------------------------